


anagapesis ii

by hellalujah



Series: uncommon words - a collection of prompt fills [6]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Recreational Drug Use, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellalujah/pseuds/hellalujah
Summary: (noun) the feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did.Sometimes letting go is hard.





	

 

 

 

> _R u awaaaaaake_

 

> _No_

 

> _Yes u are u just texted me_

 

> _Its like 2 in the morning wtf do you want_

 

> _I’m saaaaad I need a hug_  
>  _Matty  
>  Maaaaaaat  
>  :( _

  
Dillon thinks he probably deserves to be ignored at this point.

He’s been laying here for hours now, sprawled out on his couch and staring at the light from the TV flickering against the ceiling and maybe he was starting to go a little nuts. He hadn’t even looked at the time before texting Mat, had just opened up his messages and tapped it out without really thinking about it and maybe that says more about how dependent he’s becoming than anything.

He feels guilty, distantly. For texting Mat while he’s thinking about Anton, for thinking about Anton at all. For using Mat.

There’s nothing to feel guilty about, he tries to remind himself. He’s not _using_ Mat. They’re using each other. Or something.

He still feels shitty about it.

Sitting up is an effort but he forces himself upright, stretches his arms out to touch his toes and his back cracks loudly. The TV’s still on but the volume is so low it’s barely audible and he stares up at it for a moment before he starts searching for the remote. There’s some movie playing that Dillon thinks he recognizes but the movement is making him a bit sick.

Maybe he should just go to bed.

The remote is stuck in between two couch cushions and it takes him a moment to fish it out but he finally manages to turn off the TV and he’s left in dark silence. He hadn’t realized all the other lights were off and only the pool lights glowing from outside keep the house from being pitch black.

He sort of feels like crying but he doesn’t really want to address that. Mat hasn’t texted him back and anyway it’s well past two in the morning now.

Dillon hauls himself off the couch and curls his toes against the rug. The concrete will be cold against his bare feet and he’s eyeing it warily when there’s a knock at the door and he lets out a little yelp.

He stares at the door for almost a full minute before there’s another knock, a little louder this time.

It’s probably Vinnie and Kyle, he thinks. Doing some Snapchat story that they didn’t tell him about or maybe they had and he’d just forgotten. He’s been doing that a lot lately; accidentally-on-purpose forgetting plans so that he can lay around on his ass all day.

Music hasn’t been going great either. He’s a procrastination master.

There’s another knock and then a familiar, irritated voice floats through the door.

“Dillon, open the fuck up or I’m going home.”

It’s Mat’s voice, he realizes dizzily. Mat’s here at his door and maybe he’s dreaming or maybe he’s really there. Either way it doesn’t really make sense.

“Don’t make me fucking count,” says Mat, and Dillon rushes across the - very, _very_ fucking cold - concrete floor to open the door.

It _is_ Mat, standing there in a huge hoodie and flip flops and glasses. Glaring up at Dillon the way he always does, dark eyes a little red and heavy like he’s stoned and Dillon thinks he probably is. Mat sleeps about as little as he does these days and as far as Dillon is aware he tends to smoke his way through it.

“Mat,” Dillon says intelligently. He’d meant to say something clever, something cheerfully mocking but the only thing running through his head right now is _wow, fuck. Mat._

“Hi,” mutter Mat, glowering at him. “I’m here, do you want your hug or not?”

Dillon stares. He thinks his mouth might be hanging open and Mat’s still looking at him narrowly and he looks maybe more tired than irritated. That’s sort of a relief, in the back of Dillon’s head.

“You drove here at two in the morning to give me a hug?” Dillon says softly and for a terrifying moment he thinks he might cry.

“Yep,” says Mat.

Dillon reaches out and it feels childish, like a kid stretching to be picked up or held, but Mat steps forward and wraps his arms around Dillon’s waist and hugs him tight.

Mat smells like weed and some kind of spices, like maybe he’d been cooking before he’d come over and the pang in Dillon’s chest is something he can only describe as nostalgia.

He’s almost certain that if he stands here like this much longer he’s going to cry.

But Mat doesn’t let go. He keeps holding on and Dillon doesn’t let go either, just turns his face into Mat’s hair and takes a slow breath. They stand there in Dillon’s doorway for a long time and if Dillon cries it’s only a couple of tears Mat doesn’t notice or at least doesn’t acknowledge.

Dillon’s thankful.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks when he’s sure his voice isn’t going to wobble and Mat hums against his shoulder.

“Maybe a little,” Mat mumbles.

They pull away from each other and Mat looks sleepy but Dillon can’t see any tension in his face, no irritation at all and his heart is swooping in his chest.

Fuck.

“You good?” Mat asks him, peering at him over his glasses and Dillon nods jerkily.

“Yes, yeah, of course!” It’s too obvious and Mat’s rolling his eyes already but Dillon grins at him. “You want to crash here?”

Mat just looks at him for a moment and for a second Dillon thinks he’s considering it.

“I shouldn’t,” Mat says eventually and Dillon doesn’t think he imagines the reluctance in his tone.

“Yeah,” Dillon says. “Probably not.”

The silence has almost stretched into awkward territory and then Mat’s sighing and giving Dillon another hug, one-armed and casual.

“I’m going home,” he announces, voice edged with the typical grumble Dillon’s used to again. “Go to bed, Dillon.”

Dillon smiles and it’s not forced at all. “Yeah. I will.”

Mat turns and he’s walking away, flip-flops slapping against the pavement and Dillon opens his mouth again.

“Mat,” he calls and Mat looks back at him over his shoulder.

Dillon pauses.

“Thanks,” he says. He’s afraid of what other words are trying to come out. Pleas for Mat to stay. Confessions.

Mat smirks at him. It’s almost a smile. “Anytime, dude.” And then he’s trotting off down the sidewalk to his car. Dillon watches him get in, watches him start the car and pull away and drive down the street until Dillon can’t see him anymore.

He goes back inside and locks his door.

When he crawls into bed he lets himself think about Anton, just for a second.

It doesn’t hurt as much. It barely hurts at all.

Dillon smiles into his pillow.


End file.
